The Trials and Tribulations of Thomas Barrow
by jayni1000
Summary: This story happens after Series 6. Thomas-centered fic. A week-long party at Downton Abbey turns into a living nightmare for the Butler at Downton Abbey. Rated M.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Rated M, be warned.

Thomas was just putting the finishing touches to his suit, and looked in the mirror to ensure his tie was straight. He paused for a moment, looking at his reflection. So many years ago, he would've been positively thrilled with being Downton's new Butler. That wasn't to say he wasn't thrilled now, but the Thomas from back then was gone. He did indeed feel fulfilled, but he felt he barely recognized himself in the mirror any more. The tinges of grey in his hair, and for some reason his face had a different…quality, if quality was the right word, to it. He shook his head and came out of his reverie. He smiled a little as he reached for the door, thinking that Mr. Carson would most likely never have approved of such self-reflection when there was work to be done. Another smile graced his lips as he thought that the old Thomas wouldn't have given a wink what Mr. Carson would or would not approve of.

He descended the stairs, and was greeted by the new scullery maid. She was a pretty young woman, and had seemed eager for the employment. The job had opened up after the previous scullery maid was happily married to one of the local farmers. Thomas thought her name was Agnes or Anne. The greeting from the new girl made him smirk, and he stood a bit straighter. Perhaps his looks hadn't changed so very much after all, as there was a certain twinkle in her eye he recognized. She'd obviously not been privy to the fact that he was different. That thought made him scowl, and he walked into the servants' dining area looking grim. The other servants were already sitting down to breakfast, and they all stood upon his entrance to the room. He looked up and nodded, taking his place at the head of the table.

Anna was the first to speak, with a polite "Good morning, Mr. Barrow." Mr. Bates shifted his position slightly, and she unconsciously adjusted to stay close to him. Thomas watched them on occasion, and the way they melded together with such easy happiness still made him jealous. He'd been working on trying to find some happiness in his life, but what they had was something he could never have. He no longer resented their happiness, but he did still feel the occasional pang of jealousy.

"Mrs. Bates," he nodded at her as he sipped on the fresh cup of tea in front of him. The room had gone oddly quiet when he'd entered, and he looked up at everyone else. He lifted his eyebrows, and they all hurriedly continued eating, their eyes shifting away from him.

Again, Mrs. Bates spoke. "Is everything alright, Mr. Barrow? It's just that you looked upset when you came in." She avoided eye contact and reached to touch Mr. Bates' hand gently. They exchanged a smile, and Mr. Bates spoke.

"You did look uncommonly grim, Mr. Barrow."

Thomas put down his cup, and the old Thomas reared his head with a spiteful comment. The new Thomas sent him out for a cig and responded politely, "I apologize for my mood, I didn't sleep well last night." A few glances shot around the table, and everyone went on eating.

Since Mr. Carson had stepped down, and Thomas had taken his place, things with the staff had slowly improved for him. The servants were a bit unsure at first, but after an entire year of attempting to mend fences, it seemed that Thomas had become respected, if not completely liked, in his new position. Many of the servants seemed to take their queues from Mr. and Mrs. Bates as well as Mrs. Hughes, and apparently they had deemed him worthy enough.

Daisy uncharacteristically spoke up, directed at Thomas. "Maybe when this party's over we can all have a good rest." She made eye contact with him and smiled, which was indeed something new. He returned her smile.

"Thank you, Daisy. You're here early today, how is Mr. Mason?"

Andy spoke up next. "I went around the farm yesterday, the pigs are really thriving."

Daisy smiled across the table at him, "He's getting to be a right-good farm-hand, Mr. Barrow. Mr. Mason is always saying he could run the farm as well as any man now." Andy blushed into his teacup.

Thomas was pleasantly confused at these exchanges. Conversation that went on during breakfast rarely involved him, but it seemed that everyone was attempting to make an effort at including him in this morning.

Mrs. Hughes spoke up next. "Mr. Barrow, is there anything in particular interrupting your sleep? I certainly hope no one is making a ruckus and keeping you up." Her gaze swept the table threateningly.

Thomas stood up abruptly, and everyone stood. He waved them all back down, and turned to go to his parlor. He turned back halfway towards the door to face them all. "So what's going on this morning, eh?" He kept his tone light, but he was honestly confused and slightly suspicious at their attempts to include him in the conversation.

Again, glances were exchanged quickly around the table. "Perhaps, Mr. Barrow, everyone is trying to say: Job well done." Mr. Bates' deep quiet voice filled the room, and he smiled directly at Mr. Barrow. Thomas faltered and tried to speak, but felt himself choke a bit. Instead he smiled one of his half-smiles, nodded, and left the room. He heard friendly chatter pick up behind him, and he couldn't help but feel thoroughly elated. He had caused harm to so many people in that room, and Mr. Bates had just indicated that he was "off the hook", so to speak. All his hard work over the past year had been worth it. Granted, when he initially took the job, he hadn't been as disliked as he had during prior years, but he'd still had a lot of ground work to cover. He felt honored that he was forgiven, and apparently in their good graces.

The bells began ringing shortly after, and the handmaids and Mr. Bates headed upstairs to get the family ready for breakfast. Lady Mary rarely took breakfast in bed any more, and Lady Grantham had business at the hospital this morning, so would likely be eating breakfast with the family. The servants fell into step, and soon Thomas was in the breakfast room pouring coffee and tea. The mail arrived, and Thomas passed out the few items on a silver tray.

"Ah," said Lord Grantham, "it seems your friend Larry Bentford has had an unexpected visitor, and is requesting to bring him to the party tonight." He nodded at Mr. Talbot.

"Anyone we know?" asked Lady Grantham politely, smiling over her coffee at her husband.

"An American, it would seem. Mr. Daniel Peterson. Do you know him, Mr. Talbot?"

Mr. Talbot shook his head. "I've heard Larry mention him as good fun, but have never met him."

"Well of course we must have him stay for as long as your friend stays," spoke up Lady Grantham politely. She looked up at Thomas. "Do you think we can manage it?"

Thomas bowed and spoke politely, "Of course, My Lady. Mr. Molesley has agreed to assist us for the week, I'm sure he can manage it."

She smiled at him. "And how are things, Thomas? Oh I am sorry, Mr. Barrow. I'm afraid my mind is somewhere else this morning."

"Things are well, My Lady." Thomas bowed slightly to her.

Lady Mary spoke up, which surprised Thomas. "Honestly, Mr. Barrow, I don't know how you do it. I saw Mr. Carson in the village last week, and he was very complimentary towards the job you're doing. George isn't taking up too much of your time, I hope? I'd hate for him to be a distraction to you."

He bowed again. "His visits are the highlights of my day, My Lady." He smiled, thinking about the random visits he received throughout the day from Master George. He genuinely liked the child, and enjoyed the visits thoroughly.

Mr. Talbot spoke up. "He was quite enthralled the other day, he ran up to me and was telling me all about the scars you showed him. I'm afraid he considers you to be quite the war-hero." He smiled at Thomas, but the room had fallen dead silent. Thomas knew exactly what was going through a few people's heads, and he felt a slight flush creep to his cheeks.

"Yes, sir, he had asked to see my hand as he was curious about my partial glove. I hope it wasn't gruesome for him."

A collective sigh of relief flew around the table, and Lady Grantham made eye contact with him, her eyes crinkled on the sides with her knowing smile. "And I hope he didn't press you too hard, Mr. Barrow. I'm afraid you've become irreplaceable to us, and couldn't bear it if you found yourself over-worked."

Thomas smiled and bowed again, and the family rose as one, each headed out for the morning with the exception of Lady Mary, who had decided to remain to assist in preparing for this evening's dinner. "Mr. Barrow, can I have a word?"

"My Lady?" He waited politely.

"I do hope everything is going well, Mr. Barrow. I know you've been in the role for a year, but we haven't had a proper party here since you've begun. Are you sure you can handle all the fuss?" Lady Mary was polite, but there was an edge to her.

"Is there anything concerning you, My Lady?" He stood stiffly, suddenly unsure of the conversation.

"Perhaps I should be frank, Mr. Barrow. Should we bring in Mr. Carson to ensure everything goes smoothly? It's not that I don't have absolute faith in your abilities, it's just that it is quite a large party, and for a whole week at that. And I really do want it to be a success." She looked quite regal, but she shifted uncomfortably as she spoke.

Thomas felt that someone had punched him in his chest, but did his best to hide it. "If My Lady thinks it best." He bowed politely and turned to pick up the tray as she left the room. Once she left, he set the tray down again and leaned against the table, shaking slightly. He didn't know why it bothered him so much. After all, they had brought on help for large parties before, and had indeed brought on some temporary assistance for the coming week. He even found that he got on quite well with Mr. Carson during his visits to the house. After this morning especially, he had felt that he was settling very well into his new position. Now, however, it seemed that his abilities were to be questioned at their first big test. The daily running of the household proved to be no problem to him, but he had been looking forward to the party as a challenge. Now it seemed he wasn't thought up to the challenge. Thomas supposed her earlier compliment to him was to soften the blow, but it only proved to deepen the punch.

Andy arrived to help clear the room, and stopped when he saw Thomas leaning on the table. "Mr. Barrow, are you well?" He rushed over, looking concerned. "Here, have a sit-down." He pulled around one of the chairs before Thomas could object, and he felt it would be rude to decline.

"Thank you, Andy. I confess I must just still be tired." Andy looked at him with unmasked concern, and told him to rest while he cleared the room. Thomas sat for a few minutes, then rose to help. He walked down the servants' steps with Andy, and paused halfway down.

"Andy, please don't mention my tiredness to anyone. I'm perfectly fine now, and the guests should be arriving in a few hours. I don't want any distractions." Andy nodded, and they descended the rest of the way. He went over the plans with Mrs. Patmore, who seemed to have everything well in hand. Mrs. Hughes had the maids well-prepared, and all the rooms for the guests were ready. He notified Mr. Molesley about the additional guest, and all was ready. He went into his parlor to go over the figures, and found Mr. Carson seated across from his desk. Mr. Carson rose when he entered, and Thomas couldn't help but smile at him.

"Mr. Carson, I'd heard you were coming." He sat at the desk and looked across at his prior superior.

"Ah, Mr. Barrow, it was kind of you to ask me to come in to assist." Mr. Carson looked genuinely happy to be there, but frowned slightly at the look on Thomas's face, which he couldn't hide in time from the keen eye of Mr. Carson.

"I see, so when exactly did you find out that you had asked for my assistance, Mr. Barrow?"

Thomas smirked. "At breakfast this morning, Lady Mary let me know that your help was needed."

Mr. Carson sat up stiffly and, in a solemn voice, stated, "I shall let Lady Mary know that I'm not feeling well, and unfortunately can't assist with the party." He rose to leave, but Thomas stood up quickly.

"Mr. Carson, I…" He paused and thought for a second while Mr. Carson watched him. "While it may not have been my idea, I do find that some assistance would be greatly appreciated. It wouldn't do to disgrace the family by having anything go amiss. I would appreciate it immensely if you would stay to assist."

"Why Mr. Barrow, if I didn't know you better, I would think you were attempting to spare my feelings." Mr. Carson's eyebrows shot up and he eyed Thomas.

"Why Mr. Carson, if I didn't know you better, I would think you _had_ feelings," Thomas said, a smile reaching his eyes. "It would actually be of some assistance to me if you could come in the late afternoons and evenings to help ensure dinners go off without a hitch."

Mr. Carson nodded. "If you truly mean it, I grant you it would be a nice change of pace to find myself useful again, even if only for a week. Mrs. Carson keeps me up to date, but I'm afraid it's not the same as being, as they say, in the thick of it. Out of deference to you, perhaps any assistance I'm able to provide should remain in the shadows. I'll remain downstairs. Now I see you are busy, I'll just check in with Mrs. Carson." The men nodded at each other, and Mr. Carson pulled the door shut behind him as he left.

Thomas sat behind his desk pondering. He hadn't wanted Mr. Carson's help, but Lady Mary had forced his hand. He knew Mr. Carson would have been excited at the prospect of being involved in the household again, if only for a week, and he couldn't bring himself to disappoint the older man. And if he had to be honest, having someone downstairs to play interference with Mrs. Patmore would be useful during the coming week. There was no help for it now, so his pride would have to take a fall on this one. He glanced up at the clock and started. The first group of guests was due to arrive at any moment. He stood, straightened his jacket, and headed upstairs.

Xxx

Everyone had seemed to enjoy the dinner, which had gone off without a hitch. Mr. Larry Bentford, the friend of Mr. Talbot's, was quite a success. His American friend seemed to be very jovial, and laughed and joked easily. He brushed by Thomas on his way for some after-dinner port, accidentally bumping into him. He'd laughed it off, excusing himself and patting Thomas on the arm as a way of apology. He had to have been nearly six inches taller than Thomas was, easily the largest man in the room. Mr. Peterson was solidly built with muscle, and the pat on Thomas's arm actually drove him a few inches to his right. Thomas had smiled and inclined his head to him when he'd apologized, and felt that Mr. Peterson's gaze followed him often throughout the evening. Another round of drinks had been poured when Lady Grantham joined Mr. Peterson and Mr. Bentford where they were chatting amiably with Henry Talbot.

"I do hope you find everything satisfactory, gentlemen. It's so good to have a full party in the house again, I'm afraid it's been far too long." Her smile reached her eyes, as her smiles usually did.

Mr. Bentford nodded politely, "I'm afraid Danny is having to receive a crash course in our British customs."

"I confess Lady Grantham, I was very concerned that I'd accidentally used the wrong fork at dinner. Your butler did glare at me so." Thomas, who was pouring another drink for Lady Mary a few feet away, hesitated in confusion.

"Oh Mr. Barrow," Lady Grantham called to him, and he turned to faced them, inclining his head politely to her. "I do hope you're not giving the wrong impression about our customs! This is the post-war world, after all." She smiled at him, letting him know all was well.

Thomas smiled and turned to help direct Andy, but Mr. Peterson's hand shot out as he turned, grasping his right arm and turning him back towards the party. He couldn't be sure, but he thought his grip lingered a bit. Lady Grantham looked at Mr. Peterson with a confused smile, and Mr. Talbot spoke up.

"Ah, Daniel, we must let poor Mr. Barrow return to his work. It wouldn't do to hold you up, would it Mr. Barrow?"

Thomas inclined his head again, smiling. "I'm at your service."

Mr. Peterson smacked him in the back in what was clearly meant to be a friendly gesture, driving him forward a few inches with the blow. "But I have so many questions, Mr. Barrow! Was I, or was I not, using the correct fork? And I need some clarification regarding a man who arrived in my room when I was changing." Lady Grantham was taking a sip of her wine then, and Thomas heard her choke slightly in horror. "What was his name, Molesley? Ah yes, he's just over there," he said, pointing at Mr. Molesley across the room.

Mr. Talbot caught Thomas's eye and smiled, then spoke up. "Mr. Molesley will be filling the role of your Valet throughout your stay. Surely you weren't upset at having a Valet?"

"Oh no, not at all. I'm afraid I simply found him a bit dry. But then we can't all be blessed with ease of conversation now can we, Mr. Barrow?" He clapped him on the shoulder again, and Thomas became acutely aware that he wasn't clapping anyone else on the back or grabbing anyone else by the arm. Perhaps this American had odd ideas regarding how servants were treated.

Thomas bowed slightly to Lady Grantham and made to leave again, and Mr. Peterson again moved to restrain him. "So what exactly does a Butler do?"

Thomas stood uncomfortably, glancing at Lady Grantham. She spoke up for him immediately, "Mr. Barrow is in charge of the house, all of our staff answer to him. I'm afraid things would be a disaster this evening without our Mr. Barrow running the show. We must excuse him so he can get back to his duties." She gave Mr. Talbot a pointed look, who took over the conversation, steering Mr. Peterson away from the uncomfortable Thomas.

He went back to his work, and a few minutes later Lady Grantham stepped up to him for a word. "Mr. Barrow, I do hope you weren't very uncomfortable earlier. I'm afraid Mr. Peterson seems to be having a bit of confusion about our customs here."

Thomas smiled at her politely. "Not at all, My Lady."

She eyed him and went on, "Mr. Barrow, I'm afraid he's requested that you look after him during his visit rather than Mr. Molesley. He seems to think you'd be more of a conversationalist. I really hate to ask it of you, as I'm sure you're incredibly busy already as it stands."

"Not at all, My Lady. Mr. Carson has been asked to assist for the week, and he's keeping everything downstairs well in hand."

"Ah, and whose idea was this, Mr. Barrow? Was it yours?" She sometimes had a gaze that looked as if it could see straight through to the heart of you, and she was using this gaze on him now.

"No, My Lady, it was Lady Mary's. I'm grateful for the help, though."

"I'm sure. Mr. Barrow, please know that Lord Grantham and I have no doubt things would've gone just as smoothly had you been alone at the helm." She smiled at him and turned to leave. Her words made him smile, and he felt a new spring in his step. Daniel Peterson caught his eye and stepped over to him.

"Would you like another drink, sir?"

"No, no. I would like to know about that fork, though. Was I using the wrong one?" he whispered conspiratorially.

"I confess not to have noticed, sir." Thomas had been confused at his earlier remark regarding being scowled at by the butler. He hadn't noticed anything amiss with the cutlery.

He was once again slapped on the shoulder, and Mr. Peterson turned to return to the party. The rest of the evening went smoothly, and soon the family and guests filtered upstairs. Thomas took a few minutes to check in with Mr. Carson, and spoke with him and Mr. Molesley regarding the change of Valet for Mr. Peterson. Mr. Molesley looked relieved, and Mr. Carson agreed to manage things while the Valets and Ladies-maids were upstairs.

Thomas made his way upstairs with Mr. Molesley and Mr. Bates, as Mr. Molesley was looking after Mr. Talbot's friend. Thomas knocked on the door to the room which was housing Mr. Peterson, and stepped inside. Mr. Peterson's dinner jacket was lying across a chair, and Thomas picked it up, hanging it up in the closet neatly. "I hope dinner was to your satisfaction, Mr. Peterson."

Mr. Peterson was lounging on the bed watching him hang up the jacket. "It was very good, though I feel like a fish out of water with all these fancy folk around." He swung his legs over the side of the bed and sat staring at Thomas. "So what exactly are you here for? Do Valets really help grown men get dressed and undressed?"

"As well as ensure your attire is kept suitable." Thomas bristled a bit, thinking that this American must look down on the role of a Valet.

"And Butlers, do you really run the household? That must be a lot of responsibility, big house like this."

"I manage as best I can, sir. Would you like to undress?"

"My my, Mr. Barrow. Are you propositioning me?" Thomas flushed scarlet. This man was being uncommonly rude. "Come now, I saw your smile when her ladyship told you I'd requested you."

Thomas thought back to his exchange with Lady Grantham, but his smile had been for her compliment and not his new duty. "Sir, I'm afraid you may have misunderstood. Lady Grantham had paid me a compliment."

"So you're not happy I asked for you?" Mr. Peterson raised his eyebrows at him, and Thomas remained silent. "Come now, man. Do you prefer the company of men or women?" Thomas was very uncomfortable, and again remained silent. Was it so obvious that there was something wrong with him?

"Answer me, man." Mr. Peterson stood, stepped directly in front of Thomas, his hand reached up to caress his cheek. Thomas turned his head slightly to the side and closed his eyes, unsure what to do.

"Well there's my answer. Anyone who prefers the company of women would've recoiled at that. My my, I really am quite good at spotting it these days." Mr. Peterson stepped back and surveyed Thomas.

Thomas's voice came out a few octaves higher than usual. "Would you like me to assist you as a Valet, sir, or shall I retire?"

Mr. Peterson's face never faltered as his gaze locked with Thomas's. "I want you to take off your clothes."

Thomas stammered, and shifted uncomfortably. It had been so many years since he'd been with anyone, and had come to the conclusion long ago that he was destined for a life with no attachments. He'd even come to terms with it to a degree, barring the occasional pang of jealousy he felt with Mr. and Mrs. Bates. Was it really so wrong to give in to this man? He glanced up at Mr. Peterson, but couldn't form any words. He felt no attraction to the man in front of him, and found himself wanting to be anywhere but here. He choked out a few words, "I think I should go."

Mr. Peterson stepped in front of the door, barring his way, and Thomas felt the first pang of fear. His voice gained some depth as he said again, "Sir, I think I should go."

"But you haven't gotten me ready for bed? How on earth do you think I could possibly take off my vest?" The mockery in his voice was apparent, and Thomas again felt a pang of fear.

Mr. Peterson stood silently and expectantly, and Thomas felt he had little choice but to comply. He deftly began unbuttoning the vest despite his slightly shaking fingers. He glanced at the door, but Mr. Peterson caught his wrist, his grip vice-like. "None of that, Mr. Barrow. We're not finished yet." Again the fear roiled up inside him. Thomas finished with the buttons, and adjusted to stand behind Mr. Peterson, helping him shrug out of the vest. Thomas moved to hang it up, then turned to Mr. Peterson.

"Can you manage from here, sir?" He didn't look up at him. His head was spinning, and he had trouble sounding calm.

"No."

All rational thought left him, and Thomas bolted for the door. Mr. Peterson intercepted him, shoving him back. The air was almost knocked out of him with the force of the blow, and he staggered back against the bed gasping for air. Mr. Peterson didn't step any closer, and Thomas hoped it was a sign that things wouldn't progress any further. "Please," Thomas gasped. "I…I won't say anything. I'll just go."

"No."

"Then I'll call out. Someone will come."

"No."

Thomas started to call out, but Mr. Peterson stepped forward like lightning and pressed his hand over Thomas's mouth, stifling it. Thomas struggled to get away, but he was up against a much stronger opponent and he knew it. The hand came away from his mouth and he turned his face away, ashamed. "Please, sir, I want to leave."

"No."

Thomas stood there silently, starting to shake with fear. His father was right about him, he was a coward. Thomas looked anywhere but at Mr. Peterson, his hands grasping the bed covering behind him.

Mr. Peterson's voice was quiet but filled with a hardness that brooked no argument. "This is what will happen. You are going to take off your clothes. You are going to continue to act as my Valet throughout my stay. You are not going to say a word to anyone. Should you speak to anyone about this, I will simply say you made unwanted advances on me and ring for the police. Your career and your freedom will be forfeit if you say one word about this to anyone. Do you understand me?" Thomas felt his voice dry up, and he didn't respond. He only continued looking away, barely able to remain standing. He felt a blow to his stomach and doubled over, only to feel himself wrenched upright again, a strong hand wrapped around his neck. "Do you understand me?" Thomas closed his eyes, taking deep sobbing breaths, trying to calm himself. Fear had overtaken him, he wanted nothing more than to get away from this man. But who would help him? The servants all accepted him now, but how quickly would that feeling turn to hate once he was accused again of unwanted advances on a man. He would be arrested for sure if Mr. Peterson did what he was threatening. Thomas took a shuddering breath and breathed out one word.

"Yes."

A/N: Reviews are more than welcome, but I do ask that flamingly bad reviews be avoided. I'm posting this story un-beta'd, so apologize for any grammatical errors. I'm sure there will be some continuity errors as well here and there, but I'll be the first to admit that I'm not the best author out there. I hope you enjoy, this will be the only Author's Note.


	2. Chapter 2

The door opened, and Thomas stumbled out. He glanced up and down the hall, seeing if anyone was visible. It appeared empty and he didn't want to linger outside the room. His mind was still racing, and he felt the surge of adrenaline that accompanied his fear. He made his way down the hallway as quickly as his fumbling legs would take him, and paused at the top of the stairway to grasp the guardrail. He heard a voice behind him. Mr. Bates spoke.

"Mr. Barrow, I heard the evening went well."

"What?" Thomas snapped, turning to face Mr. Bates, one hand still grasping the rail.

Mr. Bates frowned and stepped closer, but Thomas backed away quickly and fled down the stairs, murmuring something about feeling tired as he left. He could feel Mr. Bates' eyes on him as he retreated, and realized quickly that he would have to regain control of himself. Mr. Bates had the instincts of a hound, and would easily discover that something was wrong if he didn't get himself under control. He could hear Mr. Bates limping down the stairs behind him, but Thomas continued on to the servant's area, headed to the kitchen. He checked himself in a mirror on the way, ensuring his suit was tidy. He stepped into the kitchen and saw Mrs. Patmore, the area was otherwise empty.

"Ah, Mr. Barrow. We wondered how long you'd be. Everything's ship-shape down here, everyone's been packed off to bed. Mr. Carson says he'll be back tomorrow around mid-day. I must say, it's very nice to see him looking so happy. But my word, Mr. Barrow! You do look frightfully pale! Are you still tired? Here, have a sit down and a nice cup of tea." She pulled a chair out and poured a cup of tea that had been set out obviously for herself.

He sat, his head still whirling, but attempted to look calm. He reached for the tea but set it down quickly after some tea slopped over the side from his shaking hand. He pressed his hand flat against the table, willing away his tremors. Mrs. Patmore fussed about him, feeling his forehead and mopping at his brow with a cool cloth. It was all he could do not to flinch away from her touch. "Oh Mr. Barrow, I think I should brave that horrible telephone and call for Dr. Clarkson! You really look very unwell."

"No," he said quickly, his voice only shaking slightly. He was slowly regaining his composure. Years of practice in hiding his true self made it feel like a well-practiced routine. "Thank you, Mrs. Patmore, but I'm fine. All I need is a good night's rest and this excellent cup of tea." He reached for it again and succeeded in taking a few sips without spilling any. If she rang for Dr. Clarkson, he might force him to take a day or two off, and Mr. Peterson had made it very clear what would happen if he was suddenly taken ill. The thought almost made the tea come back up, and he stood abruptly. "Thank you, Mrs. Patmore. Is everything prepped for breakfast?" She nodded at him, still looking concerned. He did his best to give her a smile. "I'm feeling much better, but I think I'll head to bed. See you in the morning."

He passed Mr. and Mrs. Bates in the hall, and exchanged a quick good night as they headed out to their cottage. Mr. Bates had given him a piercing look worthy of Lady Grantham, but he had assured him that he was fine. He made his way to his room, and only after closing and locking the door behind him did he allow himself to break down.

Deep sobs racked his body as he sat on the edge of his bed, reviewing the events of the evening in his mind. His chest still hurt from the blow he'd received, and he felt as though he needed to scrub himself clean. Nothing had happened, he reminded himself. Nothing. Mr. Peterson had stood and watched as Thomas had removed his clothing, taking in the sight with a glint in his eye. He'd complimented Thomas on his physique, and even gone so far as to walk around him looking him up and down thoroughly. He'd grabbed his wrist and peered at the half-glove, removing it and frowning at the scar. He'd then noticed the scars on his wrist and grabbed the other wrist to compare. He'd said nothing, but lifted an eyebrow as he looked Thomas in the eye. Thomas had stood there trembling for what felt like ages as Mr. Peterson had looked him over. Mr. Peterson had then stepped away, beginning to remove his own clothes, and the fear Thomas felt at the sight nearly overcame him. Then Mr. Peterson had said simply, "You can go now." Thomas had hurriedly put his clothes back on, and just as he was leaving, Mr. Peterson's voice rang out once more. "You're to be my valet throughout my stay, just as I said before. You'll regret any disruption in…service." Thomas had nodded and fled the room.

What was he going to do? He could run, pack all his belongings and flee into the night. But what would that gain him? No reference, very little in the way of savings, and the end of his career. He'd have no way to support himself. Maybe if he went directly to Lord Grantham and told him what had transpired, he would be able to help. But how could he confess to it? And had his value to the family really increased enough that they would believe him over a gentleman? He highly doubted it. His value would always be tarnished in their eyes by his history with them. First his prior thievery, then his manipulative behavior over the years, and lastly by his unwanted advances on Jimmy. They might believe him, but how could he be certain? Was it worth imprisonment? He'd no doubt that Mr. Peterson would be true to his word.

What about the servants? Had he gained their trust enough for help? He thought about Mr. Bates and was halfway towards the door before he stopped. Mr. Bates would go directly to His Lordship, he couldn't risk it. Mr. and Mrs. Carson might believe him, but he had no idea how they could possibly help. Mr. Carson would insist on taking the matter to either the authorities, His Lordship, or Lady Mary. Mrs. Baxter would help him, he thought desperately. She had been there for him during the two lowest points in his life, despite everything he'd done to her. He'd nearly resolved to go to her when he again decided that there was nothing she could do. Mr. Peterson had made it very clear what would happen if he resisted or went for help. But could he just allow it to happen? He doubted very much that the man wouldn't take it further. A cold voice inside him whispered that he deserved it. He was a freak, an outcast. Not only that, but he was also a manipulative man who'd hurt nearly everyone close to him. Maybe this was his comeuppance?

He lay in bed for hours, trying to find a way out of his situation. No viable options presented themselves, and he hardened his resolve. If this was the way it had to be, then he would shut himself off. He'd been raped before and had made it out the other side. He'd wall off every part of himself he needed to protect, and get through the coming week. This Mr. Peterson may have him backed into a corner, but he couldn't take everything from him. Do what he will, Thomas Barrow was not one to be defeated. Sleep slowly took him, and he woke to the hall boy calling out that it was 6 in the morning. He squeezed his eyes shut, hardened his resolve, and prepared himself for what was to come.

XXX

Everyone rose as he entered the servants' dining hall, and he sat stiffly at the head of the table. One of the kitchen helpers poured his tea, and he set to eating what was in front of him. He noticed some glances from Mr. Bates, but did his best to appear calm and collected. The first bell rung just as they were finished eating, and he stood. Everyone followed suit, and every eye turned to him.

"Mr. Talbot and Mr. Branson will be going into town today for some business, I believe their friends will be accompanying them." He looked at Andy. "Please be sure the chauffeur has a car out front by 10am for them." Andy nodded. "Well, everyone knows what needs to be done." He nodded at everyone, and they fell to.

His stomach twisted as the bell to Mr. Peterson's room rang, but he merely smiled casually at Mr. Bates. "Shall we?" They headed up the stairs together, Mr. Bates following behind Thomas. When they reached the top of the stairs, Mr. Bates grabbed his arm and Thomas forced himself not to flinch away.

"Mr. Barrow, if there was something wrong, would you tell me?"

Thomas smirked. "Why Mr. Bates, if I didn't know better, I'd think you were concerned for my health." Mr. Bates released him and returned the smirk.

"Well we can't have that, now can we?" He nodded at Thomas, and they made their way to their respective duties.

Thomas paused outside the door to Mr. Peterson's room, closed his eyes, and steeled himself. Whatever happened, he would allow it. One week of misery and he would be free to return to his life. He knocked on the door and entered quietly. Mr. Peterson was sitting up in bed rubbing his eyes. It struck Thomas as odd, seeing such a common action being performed by such a monster. "Good morning, Mr. Peterson. Breakfast is waiting downstairs; do you have a preference on which suit to wear?"

Mr. Peterson yawned and smiled. "Why Mr. Barrow, are you really that unflappable?" He said it in a flirtatious tone, and Thomas inclined his head. He stepped toward the closet and removed a suit, brushing it off slightly as Mr. Peterson got out of bed. "May I call you Thomas, Mr. Barrow?"

"Whatever you prefer, sir."

"Well then, Thomas. How did you sleep?"

"Very well, sir. Thank you." His voice sounded casual, and he was pleased to hear it.

"I slept like a baby myself. I had delicious dreams of scarred wrists and excellent physiques." Thomas inclined his head again and began to prep the suit. When Mr. Peterson turned his back, Thomas stepped forward to remove the robe, which he promptly placed in the closet. Mr. Peterson then turned to face Thomas at a slight angle, and placed his hand at the small of Thomas's back. Thomas's breath hitched in his throat, and he squashed the fear as best he could. His voice betrayed him when it came out slightly higher than usual.

"Breakfast will get cold, sir."

"This will only take a few minutes, Thomas." He grabbed Thomas's hand and forced it against him. "Well, I suppose that depends on how good you are, really." He smiled at Thomas and raised his eyebrows. Thomas focused on his breathing, closed his eyes, and set to work.

XXX

When he arrived downstairs, Andy was in place for him serving coffee. Thomas caught his eye and stepped into his place, allowing Andy to leave the room. Thomas had hoped he'd escape Mr. Peterson's room fast enough so that Andy wouldn't have to fill in for him, but it'd taken at least a half hour of torture before it was finally done and he'd been allowed to assist Mr. Peterson to dress for breakfast. He'd had to swallow back vomit once Mr. Peterson had left him alone to tidy up the room. He adjusted the clothes that would be needed for the day, and the rest would be addressed by the housemaids.

Thomas finished pouring coffee and tea, inquiring politely of Mr. Bentford and Mr. Peterson which they preferred. Mr. Bentford preferred tea, and Mr. Peterson preferred coffee. Thomas stood in his place while the family and guests ate and chatted amiably. Mr. Peterson didn't appear overly happy, and Lady Mary commented on it, inquiring if he slept well. She received a noncommittal answer and dropped the subject, happy to converse with her husband about his plans to show Mr. Bentford and Mr. Peterson their auto shop. Tom Benson joined in on the conversation on occasion. Everyone slowly filtered out until only the four men were left. They rose as one, and Mr. Peterson allowed the others to leave before him. He lingered for a moment to allow the others time to leave, then stepped up to Thomas.

"Aren't you going to ask me why I'm so glum, Thomas? I did sleep well, as you already know." His voice had a hard edge to it and Thomas swallowed hard.

"Perhaps your day in town will lift your spirits, sir."

"I'm afraid I was very disappointed this morning, Thomas. You'll have to do better in the future, or I might have to complain about my treatment." He lifted an eyebrow, snatched a biscuit off the tray Thomas had been about to pick up, and sauntered out of the room. Thomas leaned against the table for the second day in a row, but stood up quickly as Andy entered to help clear.

Andy paused to look at him, but chose not to say anything. They both set about their work quickly, and Thomas's mind went over the morning in desperation. He'd done what Mr. Peterson had wanted, hadn't he? He felt his mental wall fracturing slightly, and struggled to keep calm. He apparently hadn't pleased the man, and he felt a surge of anger towards him. So he wanted Thomas to not only do as he wanted, but he appeared to also want more from him. More than mere compliance. "Damn!" He hadn't meant to say it aloud, and Andy looked at him again.

"Mr. Barrow, are you alright?" Andy looked genuinely concerned.

"Yes, thank you. I just realized I'd forgotten to ask Mr. Carson something. How is Mr. Mason's farm coming along? Still enjoying the work?"

Andy brightened immediately at any mention of the farm and Mr. Mason, and rambled on for a few minutes about the inner workings at the farm and how much he had learned. He babbled merrily as they descended the stairs.

XXX

The day went smoothly, and Mr. Carson was headed home for the day just as the Valets and Ladies-maids headed upstairs to assist in dressing for bed. Thomas's anxiety increased with each step, and he struggled to keep control of himself. Mr. Bates said something to him, and Thomas hoped a smile and nod was enough of an answer, as he had no idea what the man had said to him.

He knocked on the door and entered the room, only to see Mr. Peterson already in his pajamas and laying in bed with his eyes closed. Thomas hardly dared to hope as he backed out of the room quietly, turning out the lights as he went. He positively fled down the stairs and headed out into the cold night air for a cigarette. Mrs. Baxter had apparently finished early with her ladyship, and had seen him go outside. She stepped up beside him and took his arm, leaning her head against his shoulder.

He sighed and rested his cheek on the top of her head gently. They had become very comfortable together, despite their history. Mrs. Baxter was, in Thomas's opinion, the kindest soul he had come across. She'd been through so much, a great deal of which was because of Thomas, but had come through it with her generosity intact. He sometimes thought she could read him like a book. She didn't pry, she simply stood there with him to remind him that he had a friend, and for that he was eternally grateful. The smoke rose up slowly, wafting around in the soft breeze.

"Thank you, Mrs. Baxter."

"You're welcome, Mr. Barrow."


End file.
